


I hope you worth it.

by EmmaSpencer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Annoyed Lestrade, Black suited minions, Case, Crate, Gen, Greg tries his best, Half dead Mycroft, Happy Ending, High Sherlock, Hurt, M/M, Mycroft finally weaks up, Sherlock back on the right track, Torture, Worried Sherlock, coded messages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 18:57:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11857644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaSpencer/pseuds/EmmaSpencer
Summary: Greg was the lucky chosen one who had to take the high Sherlock to the hosptal from a crime scene. They got out on the wrong floor; Sherlock saw an unnrecognisable patient there, who he claimed to be Mycroft. Greg is intrigued by his claim and sets out to solve the case. Soon he finds himself in the world of  black suits, secret agents, master torturers; but he didn't drop the case even when he found himself in mortal danger.





	I hope you worth it.

Greg was lying in bed stroking Mycroft's hair who was gently snoring on his chest. He smiled fondly at his new husband. "You did worth it My." he whispered and placed a kiss on the top of his head.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

 

"Let me go, he's my brother!" Sherlock shouted.  
"Sure and I'm the queen."  
"He is the queen...you idiot!"  
"Come on, this way." Greg dragged him away from the room.  
"Let me go back to him, please."  
"No can do."  
"Let me go to him! I want to be with him! I want to know what happened...please let me go to him!" Sherlock kept shouting and struggling as Greg pulled him to the nurse’s station. "New tenant ladies, have fun with him."  
"Very funny Detective."  
"Detective!" Sherlock snorted. "If you are one, you should know that I'm telling the truth. He is my brother."  
"Who, what?" the nurse asked.  
"Patient in intensive care, he's unrecognisable..."  
"His name is Mycroft!" Sherlock yelled as he was taken away.  
Greg sighed and walked back to intensive care. 'Why am I listening to him? He's high; he'd do anything to get out. Why does it interest me so much? Unknown patient, drug addict little brother...oh. He tried to get his little brother out of trouble...he owed money and his older brother tried to settle the matters. Or Sherlock did this to him! Interesting..."  
"What do you know about him?" he asked the doctor.  
"Young man in his twenties, blue eyes, auburn hair, he only weighted 55 kilos when he was brought in, no mark that could help with the identification, or it's totally destroyed. He was found in a crate that was dropped from a bridge, but it landed on a passing ship."  
"Lucky him."  
"I don't know, death might have been better for him. He was tortured for about two weeks, some of the wounds are started to heal. He was beaten, whipped, cut it reminded us to dissection, it was so precise. He was also hanged by hooks driven through his arms, burned, drugged, shot, his lungs are contused, his spleen ruptured, he almost bled out. He has several broken bones...skull, ribs, arm, fingers, hip...I think that's all. He needs to be on respirator, he had two different operations, and most likely he'll need more, but he's not tolerating it well. So you see lucky isn't the word I'd use."  
Greg went back to the office and asked around.  
"The crate? Why do you ask?"  
"I was in the hospital and I heard the story and saw him."  
"We don't have much, well we have nothing. He's good as dead we have more important things to attend now."  
"Can I take it?"  
"You want the case?"  
"Yes."  
"If your boss says it's okay you can take it." Greg's boss let him have it, only if he works on it on his own time. Greg was sitting at his table, the office was already empty. 'I hope I didn't make a mistake with it. Why am I doing this? Why? I hope you worth it Mycroft...' he opened the thin file.  
The file contained photos of Mycroft and the crate, description of a car. 'Not much. Well let's start with the car.' Greg looked through the stolen cars, he found a match. He looked at the clock and grunted when he realised how late it was. He quickly packed and went home to get some sleep.

 

He left early in the morning to enquire about the stolen car. It was a property of an old couple.  
"We just got out of the car when two men jumped on us. One of them pushed Reginald aside, he broke his hip; my poor dear."  
"I'm sorry to hear that. Can you describe the two men?"  
"They had an accent, I can't tell from where?"  
"Foreign?"  
"No, they're from somewhere here. They were tall taller than my son."  
"How tall your son is?"  
"Around 1.70 I think. They were well built lads, youngsters. Their face was hidden."  
"Anything that would help identify them?"  
"I can't tell for sure it was dark, but I might saw a tattoo of a cross on his left hand."  
"Anything else?"  
"No, not really."  
"Thank you. If either of you remember anything, please call me." he gave them his number.

 

Instead of lunch he checked the crate.   
"No prints?  
"Only his."  
"Nothing else?"  
"Blood, other bodily fluids and scratch marks."  
"Anything readable?"  
"Not to me." Greg took pictures of the inside of it.  
"Where can it be bought?"  
"God knows, but I think it's home made."  
"Why?"  
"The measurements are unusual and there are the holes. There's no mass produced crate that looks like this." Greg examined it more carefully.  
"Give me a sheet of plastic."  
"What for?"  
"To cover the inside of it. I want to try something."   
They covered it. "What now?"  
"I'm only a bit shorter than him." Greg got into it. "See." he was lying in it curled up, there was no space to move his legs or straighten his neck and the top of the crate was too low to move upwards. "It's a perfect fit. I think it was made so he can be held in it...Anybody would go mad held for two weeks in a small space like this, add the torture..."  
"LESTRADE!"  
"Coming Sir. I'm sorry Sir." he sat up.  
"What are you doing?"  
"Lunch break."  
"It's over, come on." Greg didn't have time to deal with the case that day.

 

He woke up in the morning with a cry. "Idiot!" he quickly got dressed and hurried to the station. He looked through the missing persons, but there was no mention of Mycroft, nor anyone who would fit the description. Then he tried to look for him other ways, but he simply didn't exist. He managed to find Sherlock but there was no sign of a brother or parents or other relatives. 'I should have started with this one...fantasy of a junky, nothing more.' he finished early that day, so he went to the hospital. He found Mycroft looking even worse than before. "Hello detective." the doctor greeted him.  
"Hi. How's he?"  
"Barely surviving, any luck finding out more about him?"  
"Not jet."  
Greg went to see Sherlock, he looked horrid to.  
"How's he?"  
"Who?"  
"My brother."  
"Are you sure you have a brother, I couldn't find anything about him. He doesn't exist."  
"He does, it's just classified."  
"Sure."  
"Has anyone turned up after you searched for him?"  
"No."  
"They will. Any progress?"  
"Not much."  
"Please don't give up."  
"I'll see..." he left him. 'He's paranoid, delusional, what else...poor kid...' he got home only to find three black suited men sitting in the living room.  
"Good evening DS Lestrade."  
"Evening! How may I help you?"  
"Please have a seat."  
"I'm fine, thanks. This is my flat, so don't order me around..."  
"Sit." he was pushed down.  
"Hey!" he tried to stand up but he was pushed back.  
"Why are you interested in a Mycroft Holmes?"  
Greg stared at them with wide eyes. "So he was right!"  
"Answer the question"  
"I'm working a case and the name came up."  
"Stop with it."  
"Whit what?"  
"Working the case."  
"Why would I?”  
"There is no case. Please give us your notes."  
"No can do, I have to finish it, my boss..."  
"Give it to us, or we take it."   
"No." Greg hunched when he was hit in the stomach. "Fuck..." he panted.  
"Give it to us."  
"No." the air was knocked out of him by another punch.  
"Do you want more?" he just grunted. "So?"  
"There are no notes; I haven't got time to find anything yet. I work on it in my free time, which I haven’t had much." he was dropped to the ground; the flat was turned upside down. They didn't find anything, so they left him but each of them kicked him in passing. Greg sat up with great effort, his abdomen hurt like hell, he kept gagging and coughing. He managed to stand up and decided to go to the hospital. He got checked and they gave him painkillers.  
"Hi there!" he was sitting by Mycroft's bed. "My name is Greg Lestrade. I know your brother, he is fine for now, don't worry. I though Sherlock was just paranoid from the drugs...oh you know that he's an addict don't you? Sorry if not. Anyways he's going through withdrawal. I met your colleagues or minions or whatever. They tried to dissuade me from working your case. I don't know why, I mean someone has to find out who did this to you! Oh god...what if they're the ones that took you! Little help, Mycroft...Whichever is the case, I won't give up, I'll find out what happened, I promise. I also look after Sherlock, don't worry. Your only job is now to get well, please hold on for us. Now I leave you to rest. Goodnight Mycroft."

 

The next morning Greg was greeted by his boss in the station.   
"Have you heard the news?"  
"That my case is non-existing."  
"Yes, sorry about that. Sometimes they come to us for help and sometimes they come here and cases disappear. Here's one instead burned out car, two bodies."  
"Thanks."  
He left to the scene, the car was burned out totally and there were two bodies next to them, acid was poured on them.  
"The car has been stolen a few days ago; the vehicle identification number is still readable. The owner is a Reginald Horner." Greg chuckled.  
"What's so funny son?"  
"Sorry, nothing...sorry." Greg checked the two men; there was nothing recognisable about them either. "By them most likely, their measurements match the owner’s description. Do we know who they are?"  
"No ID on either of them, but they might be in the system in some way...teeth or maybe from the tattoo on his back, the acid didn't affected that area entirely." they finished on the crime scene. Greg went back to see if they were in the system; he found the one; petty crimes nothing more. 'Okay, now I just have to find out who hired him. And who made the crate.' he collected all the numbers who could make it; there was quite a number of it. Forensics found nothing on the car, the fire destroyed it completely. Greg picked up the phone and started to make the calls.

 

In the evening Greg went to the hospital to talk with Sherlock. He wasn’t in his room, so he went to see Mycroft. There was someone in a cape standing by his bed, he stepped to him and grabbed his arm. “Doctor Holmes I presume.” Sherlock didn’t try to escape.  
“I just wanted to see him. No one would tell me how he is.”  
“Sorry about that. He hasn’t given up jet.”  
“He knows that he can’t leave me on my own...I need him.” he whispered the end.  
“He’ll survive, I’m sure of it.”  
“You don’t know that.”  
“I hope.”  
“Why would you care?”  
“I hope for your sake.”  
“I don’t understand.”  
“Never mind. I need your help.”  
“Finally, let’s get back to my room.” they walked back to his room. “So what have you found?”  
“We have the car from which the crate was dropped to the river, and the two men who stole the car and most likely did the deed. The crate was built so he could be kept in it. There were scratch marks in the inside; they seem to be some kind of massage.” Sherlock took the pictures out of his hand. “Hmmm, it’s a code.”  
“That’s what I thought. Can you break it?”  
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I can.” Sherlock kept staring at the pictures. “Stop staring, I can’t work like this!” he snapped.  
“Sorry, here’s my number. Call me when you manage to break it.”  
“I can break it!”  
“I know, you can; call me at any time. Thank you Sherlock.” he left him and walked back to Mycroft.  
“Hi Mycroft, it’s me Greg again. Next time please give an easier puzzle to your brother. Oh, sorry, not that I want you to get in a situation like this again...sorry. I know he'll figure it out; he's just...the fact that it involves you; it makes it harder for him to concentrate; I guess. Sorry but your case is not going so well, they are pretty good in making evidence disappearing. We found the car and the two men who dropped you from the bridge, dead of course, car totally burned out...So I only have your message and maybe the autopsy turns up something...I don’t know. Don’t worry I won’t give up......I’m feeling better; my abdomen still hurts and I can’t take the pill that would actually work because it turns me into a sleepwalking zombie. You look...” the monitors started to beep and Greg was ushered out of the room. He stood there looking at the doctors and nurses working on Mycroft, them he was wheel out hurriedly. ‘Please be fine...Please be fine...’ he kept repeating. Greg was thinking about going home, but he decided against it. He went back to Sherlock to tell him that he’s staying and what happened to Mycroft.  
“Why can’t you leave me alone!” he said angrily. “Do you want the message, or not?”  
“Sorry, I’m staying here for a little bit longer. Mycroft...”  
“LEAVE!”  
“Okay.”  
He was sitting in the waiting room, when Sherlock walked to him.  
“Where is he?”  
“Still in surgery.”  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“You weren’t listening to me.”  
“You just wanted me to work your case.”  
“No, Sherlock. I didn’t want you to sit around worriedly; or pace and terrorise the doctors until he’s brought back.” Sherlock dropped to the chair next to him.  
“What happened?”  
“Suture insufficiency, he started to bleed.”  
“I still couldn’t break it.”  
“You will, he wouldn’t write it unless he was sure that you can break it.” Sherlock pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around it. “He was always the smart one.”  
“You are smart too Sherlock...” Greg saw the tears that started to fell from his eyes. He put his hand to his head, and stroked his hair when Sherlock leaned to him. “I don’t want to lose him, I can’t...I need him..." they sat there waiting for the news. Greg saw that one of the doctors came out, so he stood up to talk with him, Sherlock was sleeping in the chair. “How’s he?”  
“Still with us.”  
“Good, that’s good.” He went back to wake Sherlock. “Sherlock, Sherlock!”  
“What?”  
“He’s out of surgery. He’s still alive.”  
“Can I see him?”  
“Not now, sorry. Come on you should be in bed.” he walked him back to his room.  
Greg got home; he was so exhausted he didn’t see the letter placed on his pillow until he fell on it. “What?” he sat up. He opened the envelope with caution. There was a note in it ‘7:00 Do not be late!’ and there was an address on it. He put it aside and lied back.  
In the morning he was woken by the bell, someone kept pushing it aggressively. “Okay, I’m coming. Coming!” he opened the door to see one of the black suited men standing on his door step.  
“You’re going to be late; Sir.”  
“From what?”  
“Your appointment; get dressed, my boss doesn’t like to wait.” Greg got dressed and followed him to a black car. 'I really should stop following strange men, who beat me up. What if they took me to the river and shoot me into it! God I'm an idiot.' They ended in a posh area in front of a big house; Greg stood in front of the door.  
"This way Sir." someone came out.  
"Hello my name..."  
"This way." Greg was showed to a room.  
"DS Lestrade, thank you for coming. Please have a seat."  
"Who are you?"  
"Tea?"  
"No thank you. Who are you?"  
"What do you think?"  
"Secret service?"  
"Close enough; I'm their uncle."  
"Oh." Greg sat down. “He’s still holding on, I don’t know how long. He’s in a quite bad shape; they had to operate on him again last night. Why couldn't you find him?" he gabbled.  
"Because he was supposed to be abroad, working."  
"Wasn't it surprising that you couldn't contact him?"  
"The job required radio silence. We didn't know until you searched for his name."  
"So now you take over the case."  
"No, you'll work it, full time, and we assist. Of course you don't have to..."  
"Why me?"  
"Sherlock trusts you; use him if you need to, he's smart. This is my number, call if you need anything."  
“Will you take him home?”  
“Who?”  
“Sherlock, he’ll be released soon.”  
“He can stay with me if he wants to, but I don’t think he would. We tried it before without success.”  
“What if I take him in?”  
“You can try.”  
“I presume you saw the files.”  
“Yes.”  
“Any idea who hired them?”  
“We’re looking into it. I call you when we get something.”  
“Thank you. Good day.”  
“Goodbye.”

 

Greg got to the station; his boss gave him back the files. “It’s yours again. What happened?”  
“No idea. Thanks.”  
He sat to his table trying to think through the case. 'Okay, what have we got? Acid; no enough they could by it anywhere it's too small quantity to be conspicuous. Anyone can make a crate like that, now I know that too. The phone records of the men, nothing unusual expect few calls from different public phones. Nothing, nothing, nothing!’  
Sherlock called Greg; he managed to decipher the scratches. Greg called their uncle and went to see Sherlock, he wasn’t in his room so he went up to Mycroft; he wasn’t there either. “Hello, I’m back...and you are too. You really scared us; you know. Sherlock, he’s scared and worried...don’t tell it to him, he’d deny it. But I can see it, he doesn’t want to lose you; so for his sake keep holding on. Please. I met your uncle; turns out they were his minions that got me beaten up. He’s coming here, Sherlock thinks he found out who did this to you...It won’t be easy to solve it I fear...I leave now; I have to find Sherlock again. See you later.” he stood up and walked back to Sherlock’s room, which was still empty.  
“Where is he?” he asked the nurse.  
“Who?”  
“Sherlock Holmes, the kid.”  
“Intensive care I guess, he always goes there.”  
“He’s not there!” he ran down the stairs to the entrance. He stopped trying to catch his breath when he saw Sherlock being dragged by the collar.  
“Sherlock! Don’t do this! Evening Sir. Sorry...”  
“Afternoon DS Lestrade. Come on boys, time to talk.”  
They were sitting in Mycroft's room.  
"Where were you going Sherlock? Have you cracked it?" Greg asked him.  
"I told you I will." he took out the picture. "Kindness; I guess it’s a code name."  
“Oh god Mycroft.” uncle Rudy blurted.  
“So you know who it is.”  
“Yes, I know him. Continue...” he said with a stern look.  
"That's where he was held." Sherlock continued. "This is another code name; Antarctica."   
“Hmmm.”  
“Who is it?” Sherlock and Greg asked simultaneously.  
“An agent of ours.”  
"Mycroft knows him?"  
"He knows all of them Sherlock. You know him; one look and it's stored in his mind forever."  
"Who is he?"  
"Sorry Sherlock."  
“I never get to know anything interesting." he sulked. "There is an address in blood it's not even coded; it's just hard to read; it was written last I guess."  
“Why would he write it down?” Greg asked with confusion. “He was tortured for two weeks, not telling anything to them; why would he write it down?”  
“I don't know." uncle Rudy answered; Sherlock examined him with grave attention. "What is that?" Uncle Rudy pointed at the last line to distract him.  
"Nothing." Sherlock pocketed the picture and looked at Mycroft.  
"That's him saying goodbye." Greg whispered.  
"Why didn't you crack it yourself if you know it so well."  
"Sorry."  
"Boys, please. I get the place checked, it's most likely a warehouse; already emptied out."  
"I'll go too!" Sherlock and Greg said at the same time.  
"Nope, you stay here Sherlock and look after your brother."  
"He doesn't need me to look after him."  
"He does Sherlock, please. You have to be very cautious; anyone can come here to hurt him; now that his identity is revealed. Also you’ll have to get used to being watched again."  
“Not again...I’ll stay I promise.”  
“It’s not that; now all three of us know the address.”  
“Oh...Great.” Greg whispered.   
"Okay." Sherlock said reluctantly.  
"I know I can't forbid you to come, but..."  
"I'm going." Greg said again.  
"Fine." he left to make some calls. "Come on, we're leaving. Watch out Sherlock!"  
They drove in silence until they got to the warehouse. It was empty as they expected.  
"Jesus." Greg blurted. "Sorry..." he was standing in a doorway staring into a room. It was empty not counting some hooks, chains and a table; everything was covered in dried blood.  
"All of them look like this; it was used as an illegal slaughterhouse. No wonder they chose it.”  
“Who is he?”  
“He’s an American agent; he came to work with us on a project. I have no doubt that he’s behind it; I know Mycroft, he wouldn’t write it; if it wasn’t the case. He’s an exceptionally good torturer......He has never made a mistake before. That Mycroft survived...it is a miracle; he bared it for two weeks...” They looked around the building.  
“What now?” Greg asked.  
“Good question. We have nothing that can link him to the case. His name isn’t enough...”

 

Greg spent the following days in fear; he jumped at any noise and moving shadow. He stayed in the office all day long and spent the nights in the hospital by Mycroft’s bed; at least the men at the door watched over him too that way. He only went home to change and take a shower; he always had his gun by his side.  
He was sleeping on the chair next to Mycroft’s bed when someone woke him.  
“Doc! God, you’re startled me.”  
“Sorry. You have to come with me now.”  
“Why? Where?”  
“The two men, they're gone.”  
“What?” he jumped up and followed him to the corridor, where the two men lied on the ground. “Wait...” the world suddenly turned dark. When he came around he was in a similar crate then Mycroft. ‘Bloody hell. Oh no, no, NO! I don’t want this, please. This is not what I signed up for...being kidnapped by master torturers...No!’ he tried to take deep breaths to calm down a bit. ‘Okay, okay Greg we have to think now...good. He planned it; that bloody uncle of theirs. Sherlock was watched, they couldn’t get to him; he wouldn’t let anyone close to himself; so I remained. He handed me to him on a plate!...He...I’m going to kill him...he's going to kill me! Oh god; I don't want this!’ the crate was opened and Greg pulled out of it. The sudden light blinded him; he was pushed and chained to a chair.  
“DS Lestrade, nice of you to join us.” the ex-doctor cooed.  
“Thank you for inviting me. How may I be of your assistance?” he tried to sound confident.  
“The address.”  
"Whose? Mine?"  
"Don't play the idiot; Antarctica where is he?"  
“Don’t know.”  
“Do you know who is he?”  
“Nope, and I don’t care.”  
“What if I say that by telling it to me you can save thousands of life? He's worse than me; he's a mass murderer, a criminal mastermind in disguise; he pretends to be good, keeping the peace in the world and other bullshit; but he only cares about himself and what is good for him! Not caring about anybody else!" he shouted, he stopped for a while and continued in a calmer tone. "So keep silent and their death and the misery of their families will be on your conscience.”  
"Who did you lose because of him?" Greg asked with curiosity.  
"Tell me the address!"  
“No.” Greg shook his head.  
“We’ll see.” The dance started with Greg lost consciousness at one point, so he was put back to the crate. ‘Oh...ouch...fuck...' he slowly came around. "Not even an hour and I’m done. They want the address...the address...’ he almost drifted back when a thought occurred to him. ‘That bastard planned this! Okay what could he want? Were they tracking me? Or they want to catch him when he tries to go to the address? I’m not a genius...why wouldn’t he tell me! Who is Antarctica? Was he telling the truth or not? Most likely playing with me...mind games. But the rage, that was real; he really hates him or her. Maybe it was a mission gone wrong and he lost someone...maybe...I don't know...I don't know...what should I do? Okay; I wait a little bit more, maybe they come. If not I tell him.’ he was taken out again. The torture continued, Greg tried to hold on as long as he could; but finally he gave in.  
“Okay...okay...I tell it!” he panted. “London, Kensington Cambridge Pl 3. That’s it. Please, please just stop.”  
“Thank you Greg, I know you were an intelligent man. Now enjoy your peace. Goodbye.” A cloth was forced to his mouth and Greg was put back to the crate, the top was sealed; he waited for it to be transferred somewhere, the river maybe, but they walked away. ‘Now comes the slow and agonising death. The heat, no food and water...it’ll be pleasant. Oh god why did I believe Sherlock...I hope I guessed well and they’ll catch him. I hope it worth it; I hope you worth it...Mycroft...” he lost track of the time; it was harder and harder to stay awake. He faintly heard his name being called; he tried to talk forgetting the cloth in his mouth. Then he heard a dog barking, and the crate was opened. Greg was helped out of it and immediately surrounded by medics. Uncle Rudy stepped to him.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” Greg muttered  
“It’s okay Greg, don’t worry. I’m the one who has to apologise. It’s over, we’ll talk later.”  
Uncle Rudy was sitting by Greg’s bed when he woke up.  
“I’m sorry DS Lestrade.”  
“I told him the address.”  
“Yes, thank you. You were right Mycroft would never write it down. The address was of the Secretary of State’s; I advise you forget it quickly. As you can imagine it doesn’t look good if you break into his house; add to that being a known foreign agent...”  
“Mycroft planned this! In that state!”  
“Yes.”  
“Who is Antarctica; he said things about him...”  
“It was a joined mission with the Americans; Antarctica was in charge of it. It was...the chances of them returning were very low, they all know it; they were all volunteers. His brother was one of them; and he did not return. Kindness blames Antarctica for it; luckily he only knows his code name; not his identity.”  
“Who is he?” there was no answer. “Is he worth it? I mean...”  
“He does; I never knew anyone who could solve state matters, prevent wars; make peace; handle politicians so effortlessly. We’re lucky to have him...I'm sorry I had no other choice. It would be suspicious if the security around me suddenly dropped. Sherlock...he's young, I know he's clever; too clever. He would have played games with them; he would never tell it to him. Also my sister would kill me if something would happen to him too..."  
“I figured.” 

 

 

"Hello it's me; Greg. You look better day by day. The doc said you're well enough to wake, but you don't want to. Please wake up, I'm begging you. I wasn't used to begging, but your brother made me. I have to beg for him to come home from the morgue, there's a student who lets him carry out his experiments there; I think she likes him. I'm not complaining at least he's not blowing up my flat; but it's hard to get him come home and eat and sleep. There are times I have to beg him to go to school, or simply to shut up. At least he's occupied enough not to turn back to drugs. So now I'm begging you to wake up, because I can't control him anymore on my own. I need you, he needs you, please. I know that what happened to you was horrible. Your body is healing, but...I know that you want to protect yourself from the memories, but we're here to help. You won't be alone; we'll be here with you. Tell you that you are safe and that it's over and you are fine...and not alone and loved. We'll tell you how much you were missed, I tell you stories about Sherlock, there are quite a number of them...and we'll laugh and together we'll keep him on the right path. You both going to help each other to get better...I'm going to help to the both of you...it's going to be all right...Please just wake up, please Mycroft open your eyes...for me, just open them..." Greg buried his face to his hands. "Please we need you." he stood up with a sigh; he almost jumped when he was met by Mycroft's blue eyes. "Oh...You're awake! Welcome back Mycroft. My name is..."  
"Gregory." he whispered.  
"Yes, that's me." Greg looked at him surprised, he pushed a button and soon a nurse and a doctor came in. They quickly checked Mycroft and left when they were satisfied that he was all right.  
"Sherlock will be so happy that you are back. He is staying with me currently. He's fine most of the time, but it's not easy with him."  
"I know...I tried."  
"Your uncle told me about it. I hope together we can be more successful. He missed you; he was scared that you won't make it. Don't look like that he was. I leave you to rest now; I'll bring him in later today if I can find him."  
"Thank you." Greg was almost out of the door when he heard a whisper. "Stay..." he turned."Please."  
"Sure." he sat back and took Mycroft's pale hand stroking it with his thumb. "You are safe Mycroft, you can sleep. I stay till you fell asleep then I find Sherlock, so we can come back. You are back with us, you are safe. We're going to help you in whatever you need...we're here for you, I promise..." Mycroft soon fell asleep.  
Greg left to find Sherlock. It was harder then he thought. 'Not now Sherlock, not now...Please.' Greg called Uncle Rudy.  
“I’m sorry to bother you Sir, but I need a favour. I can’t find Sherlock...Oh stupid me! Mycroft woke up. I want to take Sherlock to him, but I have no idea where is he.”  
“I’ll take him to see Mycroft if I can find him.”  
“Thank you. I’ll be in work, please call me if you found him.”  
“I will.”  
Greg was working; he kept worriedly glancing at the phone. He had to leave the office to go to a crime scene. As soon as he got out of the car he heard Sherlock shouting with someone.  
“Sherlock!” he stepped to him.  
“Lestrade, finally here! Tell these morons that he didn’t kill himself....Lestrade we can’t wait all day long. Hurry up!”  
“Are you high?” he looked him up and down Sherlock was too excited.  
“No need, we have a case! Come on, we have a murderer to catch.”  
“Mycroft woke up.”  
“The murderer is a woman, about 1.60, right handed...”  
“Have you heard what I said?”  
“Nothing useful so far, let’s get back to the scene. It’s not the wife, she’s blond and the murderer has red hair...”  
“MYCROFT!”  
“Why are you shouting Lestrade?” Sherlock stopped and finally looked at him.  
“He woke up.”  
“He...he did what?”  
“He opened his eyes, I even talked with him. I promised that I’ll take you to him today.” Sherlock was already by his car.  
“Come on Lestrade, come...hurry up! They can finish here without you...Come on!...Please.” he ran back and started to drag him to the direction of the car.  
“Are you sure that you’re not high?”  
“Yes...I just want to see him. Come on. Please, please.” Greg talked a few words with someone and followed him to the car.  
When they got to the hospital Sherlock run up to Mycroft’s room, he was sleeping. Greg called uncle Rudy and followed Sherlock; he was pacing in the room.  
“He’s not awake!"  
“I can see that, please keep your voice down, he needs to rest.”  
“Why?” Sherlock whined.  
“Sherlock, please...sit down.” he kept pacing and staring at Mycroft. Uncle Rudy arrived; Greg stepped to him.  
“Crime scene." he sighed. "The doctor said Mycroft is fine. I could talk to him, he knew where he was; he knew my name, which is strange. I told him that Sherlock is fine, that’s all.”  
“Does he remember anything?”  
“I think so... he asked me to stay until he fell asleep.” Mycroft shifted in sleep. Sherlock was by the bed immediately. “My!”  
Greg was by his side in a few steps and pulled him away. “Sherlock leave him be.” he whispered.  
“But he...”  
“He’s sleeping, please let him rest.”  
“He has been sleeping for six weeks now!”  
“I know, I know. Please be patient.” Sherlock kept pacing until Mycroft finally woke again.  
“My! You’re awake!”  
“Please don’t shout Sherlock.”  
“Don’t do this again My!”  
“Next time I get kidnapped I’ll ask them to be nicer.”  
“I had to wait for six weeks! I have to move to Lestrade, he’s okay...He’s a DS in Scotland Yard...he’s the least annoying and the least idiot of the whole bunch.”  
“Hey! I’m right here.”  
“I said you’re okay.” Mycroft smiled at Sherlock weakly.  
“Brother mine...”  
“Sorry.” Sherlock mumbled. “They forced me back to school.”  
“I’m glad.”  
“It’s okay, less boring then I remembered. I...I...” he turned his eyes down.  
“I figured.” Mycroft tried to get hold of his hand, but he was too weak for it.  
“I’m clean now......How are you?”  
“Weak...I don’t know...I will be fine, I guess...I don’t have another choice.” he trailed off. “What happened?” he turned to uncle Rudy.  
"What you planned."  
"I'm sorry, I had no better idea. I hoped he finds it before they get rid of me; I wasn’t in a state to tell it to him......What?" he looked at the others; trying to read them. "Oh..." he eyed Sherlock and Greg questioningly.  
Sherlock pointed at Greg. "Him."  
"Why?"  
"I didn't really have a choice. I mean I could have dropped the case when it turned serious, but I...anyways it was only two days." Greg mumbled.  
"Two days!"   
"Mycroft..." uncle Rudy tried to calm him.  
"You let it to go on for two days!"  
"It's okay Mycroft. It was my fault; it took me time to figure out what your uncle planned." Greg said reassuringly.  
"No, it's not! Why would anyone in their right mind consent to this?"  
"Good question." Greg mumbled, he saw that Mycroft was tired out. “Come on Sherlock we should let your brother rest. We have a case waiting for us, remember.” Sherlock looked at Greg then looked back at Mycroft. “Go Sherlock, I’ll be here.” he turned to Greg. “Please look after him.”  
“Of course.”  
“Thank you.” Sherlock reluctantly stood up and followed Greg. 

 

Greg visited Mycroft a few days later. “Gregory, it’s good to see you.” he greeted him.  
“You look much better Mycroft. I was here to make sure that Sherlock eats, he’s too swooped up in his experiment right now.”  
“Thank you. Unfortunately he learned it from me; if I’m working the world stops existing around me; and when I emerge I’m famished, thirsty and haven’t slept for 72 hours.”  
“And here I am struggling to read through a report without being distracted.” Mycroft chuckled; and Greg smiled at him.  
“What?” Mycroft asked.  
“You look even better when you smile.” Mycroft turned red. “How are you felling?”  
“Much better, thank you. I would like to thank you for your help, with Sherlock and my case. I also would like to apologise for what you had to endure.”  
“You were lucky we got out of the elevator on the wrong floor; and that Sherlock recognised you in that state...”  
“I saw the pictures.”  
“I don’t know how you bared it for two weeks.”  
“I had no other choice.”  
“Does he worth it?”  
“Who?”  
“Antarctica, the one he wanted.”  
“You tell me.” Greg looked at him with confusion; then his eyes grow wide from the realisation.  
“Oh...but why? I mean he would do the same...I...you know what am I trying to say.”  
“I couldn’t tell him, because that way I’d be smuggled out of the country, kept alive and forced to work with them, they would get everything out of me; they would break me...he got really close to that...I guess he told you some things about...him.” Greg nodded. “They are true; sacrifices are have to be made, I’m afraid. It’s not like in books where the hero swoops in and saves everybody. In reality is dark and bloody and uncertain; hard decisions have to be made. I don’t say they always turn out how they should, it’s not a fairy tale; but I always aim for minimal loss; I always try to find the best solution. That’s why they have me; I can come up with plans they would never ever dream of...” Mycroft fell silent. "Before you go can I ask a last favour? Please look after Sherlock; please don't judge him based on my actions.”  
“Why last...I mean...I don’t understand you.” Greg looked at him with confusion.  
“I assume you won’t want to keep talking to me now that you know what I do.”  
“Why wouldn’t I?”  
“I have blood on my hands Gregory, I’m not...”  
“Me too.”  
“It’s not the same.”  
“I have a job, you have a job it doesn’t mean that you go and hunt down pedestrians in your free time.” Mycroft looked at him with disbelief.  
“I don’t understand you. I’m no better than...than...any of them.” he gestured around, not saying who he was thinking of. “Don’t waste your time on me Gregory.”  
“I know that technically you are my boss, but you can’t tell me what to do with my free time.” Mycroft opened his mouth but no sound came out of it. “You should rest, you look tired. Need help?”  
“Yes please.” Greg helped Mycroft to lie down and arranged the blanket around him. “Could you stay?”  
“Sure.” Greg sat down and held his hand telling him stories about Sherlock until he fell asleep.


End file.
